Flatline
by Dani Zatara
Summary: She's an assassin, trained from birth looking for redemption. He's a regular teenager, looking for adventure. Can they help each other without destroying themselves in the process?


**Flatline**

**One**

"Do you understand what you have to do?"

His question rings in my ears as I look up at him, our eyes meeting. His are expectant, almost impatient. He is waiting for my reply although he already knows the answer. His instructions were clear, impossible to not comprehend. Although he is a good foot taller than me he stands upright and proper. There is no love between us, no amity. The only thing between us is something he calls a gun. I've never used one before, but I know he has. He has used one on me. I have the scars to prove it.

"Do you understand, Cassandra?"

He repeats his question, taking a threatening step closer. His body is telling me he is angry, but his eyes speak a whole different story. Somewhere, deep beneath the hard grey irises, there is an inch of pride. I am, after all, his daughter. And he has trained me well. He has every reason to be proud. I am only fifteen and I have already completed training with the League of Assassins. I am only fifteen and I can engage twenty full grown men in combat. I am unsure who should be more proud of my accomplishments; me or my father. Because he is my father, I want to keep him proud. I nod. I fully grasp the task at hand.

"Very good." The edges of his lips curl upwards, the closest I'll ever get to a smile from him. His arms outstretch, closing the distance between me and his gun. I know what he expects me to do. Steadily, I reach out and grab the cool metal from his hands. He lets it go with ease. He trusts me with it. He truly believes I can accomplish his task. He does not doubt that I am ready to kill.

Without another word, I bow. Once my back is straight, he nods subtly, allowing me to take my leave. I back out of the dark room slowly, never turning my back to him, never showing an ounce of disrespect. As I reach the large oak doors, I bow once more and pull them closed. Finally able to turn around, I take off at a run. I am ready to prove myself, once and for all.

----*

This is not right. The man cowering on the dusty floor in front of me is not my father, yet there is more emotion inside of him than I've ever experienced. He is trying to reason with me, something my father never did. It was always his way or punishment. My father told me this would happen. I thought I was prepared for it; prepared to see through the lies and dramatics people go through to save their sorry lives. But…there is no lie in this man's movements, in his voice, in his eyes. This man wants to live. He has a family, he tells me. And I believe him.

I take a step closer, my father's gun levelled with this man's chest. I do not know his name. I was told it was unimportant. Nothing is important besides the location of the target. This man is my target.

"Please," he whimpers, tears running down his plump cheeks and streaking the marble floor, "Please just tell me what you want. I'll give you anything…Please."

I can not tell him what I want. I can not tell him I want to learn his name and what he has done to deserve to die. All I know is that he is going to die. And I am going to kill him. It's nothing personal. I have no choice. I take one more step, the floor creaking beneath my boots, making me scold myself for lack of silence. I kneel down, close to the man I am about to kill and place the gun at his forehead.

His breath hitches and his tears begin to flow more freely. His mumbling is now incoherent. However, there is still emotion there. There are so many feelings running through his twitching body it makes me want to scream. It makes me want to feel. It makes me frustrated.

Before I can even contemplate it, I feel warm flecks of liquid hit my face. It's blood spatter from the man I have just killed. It's pouring from the hole in his head. I look down at him, almost unable to believe I have just taken a life in less than five seconds. I wish I hadn't looked though. His eyes aren't closed. They are staring up at me and there is nothing there. They are empty. He is empty and I am to blame.

Shaking, I stand up and dust off my knees. My mission was simple. Kill the target. I did it. Mission accomplished. I hope my father is proud. I don't plan on returning to him in order to find out. You see, if I have learned one thing from this exercise, it is not how to neutralize a target. Looking into the empty eyes of a man, I have learned that killing is always personal.

-----*

_So, what did you think? This is my second, hopefully better, attempt at a story featuring Batgirl and Robin. Please leave a review and/or constructive criticism. It is very much appreciated. Thanks in advance. Oh, and I do not own Batman, Robin, Batgirl or any such thing. All is propery of DC Comics! **Dani _


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